


Act II: The Stinging Winds

by Fulcrumisthebomb



Category: Diablo III, The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: AU, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, M/M, barbarian Drift, demon hunter Perceptor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 20:23:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4493445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fulcrumisthebomb/pseuds/Fulcrumisthebomb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Perceptor forgets his tough Barbarian friend is built for snow and ice, not sun and sand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Act II: The Stinging Winds

**Author's Note:**

> This is my response to a gift, which is found [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4488702).

With a shrill cry, the Fallen shaman twitched and collapsed in a spray of sand. Perceptor grinned as he stepped out from behind the decrepit wagon, pleased to see his arrow still twanging from the exact centre of the monster's skull. A stealth kill still excited him, the novelty as fresh as his first. 

He tossed a quick glance as his companion, pulling up his heavy crossbow to assist, but Drift was barely visible in a whirlwind of Fallen and gore. When the Barbarian channeled his rage thus, Perceptor had found it best for him to simply watch. Which was far less a chore these days, to observe Drift's controlled fury, all teeth and tanned skin and icy eyes. He now knew what it felt like to have that passion turned on him. Perceptor repressed a pleasurable frisson and returned to his kill. 

Kicking the corpse at his feet, Perceptor's smile returned when he heard the telltale scattering of coin. He found it darkly humourous that he easily had thrice the wealth of his old life, with more gold collected daily than he'd previously seen in a month. After gathering the small treasures the shaman had dropped, Perceptor pivoted on one heel to scan for his friend- and nearly dropped his knapsack. 

Drift was kneeling in the bloodied sand, head bowed, shoulders slumped as he clung to the planted hilt of his greataxe. Every line in his body language screamed of defeat; Perceptor's stomach knotted as he rushed over, skidding next to his friend and pawing at one muscled arm. 

"Drift?" he called urgently, pulling back a swath of tangled hair so he could see his friend's face. "Drift, what happened? Are you hurt?"

The hooded eyes slid to the side, meeting Perceptor's gaze with a glazed look. "Hurt? No, no I- Yes. My head is on fire."

"As seems to be the rest of you," Perceptor replied sharply, his hands coming away from Drift's skin slick with sweat. He started when Drift crumpled further, clutching at his abdomen. "Drift?!"

"My middle's like snakes," Drift moaned.

As dire as his friend's condition seemed, Perceptor couldn't resist a short chuckle. Though Drift was surprisingly cultured and intelligent- far moreso than Perceptor ever would have guessed a Barbarian could be- his penchant for folk sayings always made the hunter laugh. 

So, nausea. Headache. Fever, perhaps. Profuse sweating. Slurred speech. Perceptor frowned suddenly as he pulled one of Drift's arms around his shoulders, staggering to his feet as he attempted to pull the Barbarian's bulk upward. "We must get you to the Khasim Outpost  _immediately_."

Drift made to argue, then snapped his mouth shut, eyes slipping closed in agreement. That gesture was more devastating to Perceptor's morale than any of the combined symptoms; over the year he had traveled with his friend, he had come to understand and rely on Drift's massive stamina and willpower. For Drift to give in so easily...

It was an adventure in and of itself to stumble back to the outpost under their combined weight. The way was mostly clear, as they had cut through a large chuck of foes in the area already and most were keen to keep out of sight as they passed by again. There were a few Lacuni who ambushed them, screaming shrill threats as they leapt at their faces, but Perceptor kept them in check with a few well-timed shots. 

As it had only been the afternoon since they had liberated the outpost from the Deceivers, Captain Davyd was still guarding the entrance when they limped in. Perceptor was grateful the captain took only a second to assess their condition before ushering them to a cool, dark room nearby. Water, rations and towels were brought, along with the promise to find a healer before the captain left them, reminding Perceptor to ask for aid from any soldier if he wasn't available. 

With everything on hand, however, Perceptor was prepared to settle in for a very long evening of tending his friend. He and the captain had wrestled Drift onto the only cot, the Barbarian looking even more pale and sickly in the dim lighting. Perceptor made a small nest of straw to sit on as he swept damp hair from Drift's face, who stirred at the touch.

"Percy?"

"Yes. I'm here, Drift, and I will be here all night if you need me."

"Why..." Drift's eyes slitted open, expression twisting in confusion. "Why are we laying in the dark?"

Perceptor wetted one of the towels and ran it over Drift's forehead and cheeks. "You are suffering from sun sickness," he murmured. "You must rest and drink until tomorrow. Come, can you sit up? You need as much water and salt as your stomach can hold."

Drift blinked slowly, taking time to process the request before he moved. Perceptor helped him right himself before handing over a waterskin, mumbling reassurances when Drift muttered over spilling some. Drift managed to down half the skein and a few dry crackers before he shook his head and collapsed back on the cot.

Perceptor took up the towel again, wiping the sheen of sweat off Drift's skin; he started when a massive hand reached up, breaking his concentration.

"How'd we get here?"

_Add confusion to the symptoms list_ , Perceptor thought worriedly. He had been taught of heatstroke and how to avoid it in his childhood, but had never experienced it. His home had been located next to the hot, humid jungles and oases that bordered this land; it hadn't occurred to him his large hearty Drift would be susceptible. Drift's frequent calls for a break should have put him at alert. This... was at least partially his fault.

Perceptor's stomach clenched.

"I am so sorry," he whispered, dropping the towel to wrap one of Drift's hands in both of his. Drift's glazed eyes stared back, the lost expression so far removed from his usual intensity, and the hunter had to swallow thickly. "You are ill because I was blind to your suffering. I forget that you are made for the chill of the clouds on your mountain. You have told me so many stories of snow and ice and I... I did not truly listen."

Drift frowned, lifting his free hand to tangle in the dark hair above him. "What? Percy, I don' unnerstand."

"You are ill," Perceptor repeated, leaning his head into Drift's palm, "but I will see you well. I promise you. I will not leave your side until you stand beside me."

A short burst of laughter startled the hunter. "So dramatic," Drift chuckled, his head flopping back against the cot. "Love you too."

Perceptor froze. "What?"

Drift sighed in exaggeration, drawing Perceptor down to rest on his bared chest. "Came to this damn desert t' die," Drift wheezed above him, "but you gave me 'nother chance t' live."

The hunter shivered at the echo of Drift's first words to him, his hands curling protectively around the fingers laced through his. Drift was rambling, sick with the heat; it was unfair to take anything he said as truth.

"Means I love you," Drift mumbled. "I feel you say it when you touch me. Look at me. Y' won't say it, but s'alright. Dun need to."

Perceptor sucked in a sharp breath, wholly unprepared to speak but needing to say something because even in his madness Drift was so  _perceptive-_

"An' I'm really hot, c'n you get up?" Drift whined, pushing at Perceptor's shoulders, and the hunter set aside everything he wanted to say as he obeyed. Drift deserved his words as much as his care, and when he was well, Perceptor intended to finally give him both.


End file.
